


Ostende mihi illum quem quaero

by lady_simoriah



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Mutual Masturbation, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_simoriah/pseuds/lady_simoriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam shares a magical long distance call with a certain fiery witch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ostende mihi illum quem quaero

**Author's Note:**

  * For [omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/omens/gifts).



> Special thanks to tipsy_kitty for the beta!

If magic ran in families then Sam Winchester was unwittingly sitting on a veritable gold mine. Their grandfathers on both sides but most especially Henry Winchester seemed to have a knack for dabbling with spells and he could vividly recall their own father, John, using the bare bones of magic when nothing else would work. And of course in all the years he’d hunted alongside Dean they’d both made and destroyed more hex bags than Sam could keep track of. Why it had taken so long for Sam to try and work magic, real witchcraft-level magic, he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like it was a matter of going dark side, hell, he’d already been down that road. And it wasn’t like the tools hadn’t been there all along even before they’d found the Men of Letters bunker. The only excuse he could think of was that he just hadn’t taken the time or had the confidence in himself to attempt to do the kinds of things he’d seen Rowena do to him, to Dean, or to Castiel.

Ah, Rowena, the sole reason he was even contemplating trying his hand at casting a spell of any kind. Once they’d returned to the Bunker after managing to force the irritating little fire-haired witch into releasing Castiel from her attack dog spell, he’d found himself thinking about another spell, the scrying spell they’d used to find her. While Dean had nursed their wayward angel back to health, Sam buried himself in books, reading up on all the Men of Letters had collected on the basics of how to make a scrying spell work. He knew the basics, that you needed a point of focus like a crystal or a mirror, hence all the gypsy fortune tellers and their crystal balls, but he hadn’t known how to make the item actually show what you needed to see. The texts he’d found solved that as well as the words the witch had used at the police station.

 _“Ostende mihi illum quem quaero,”_ he mused, “Show me what I’m looking for.”

He waited until Dean was out on a beer run and Castiel was resting to attempt the spell. His lips quirked in a wry smile when he collected the beautifully clear quartz ball from the Men of Letters vaults. He knew he could have used his bathroom mirror or even a bucket of clear water, but he wanted something he could easily get rid of or destroy without drawing a great deal of attention. Plus the irony of the Men of Letters having confiscated some witch’s genuine scrying ball and using it themselves wasn’t lost on him either. He secreted himself away in the dungeon they’d used for both Crowley and Rowena, trusting it to be able to contain things in case something went awry. He lit candles at each of the five points of the pentagram on the floor then moved to sit in the center with the crystal ball cradled in his broad palms. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to picture Rowena in his mind. He thought about her fiery curls and that sassy twist of a smile she always shot his way when she called him by his full name in that lilting Scottish brogue of hers. He knew he shouldn’t find her attractive, not in the slightest bit; after all she was Crowley’s mother for crying out loud, but after this latest run in with the sneaky little green-eyed witch, he felt more driven than ever to put it behind him.

“Bad girls,” he grumbled, “Why is it always the bad girls?”

He shook his head to clear it of any wayward, gutter bound thoughts and only focused on the bare essentials of what he needed to scry for Rowena’s current whereabouts to try and regain possession of the Book of the Damned.

 _“Ostende mihi illum quem quaero,”_ he intoned softly.

He waited patiently,; breathing deeply and inhaling the scent of beeswax and smoke from the candles, before cracking one eye open warily. He half expected for it not to work, for the ball to be just as vacant as it had been when he’d sat down. Color him surprised when he realized the once clear crystal was filled with a smoky fog. He was scared at first, his mind flashing back to that day he’d nearly lost his brother again and in doing so had unleashed a brand new level of hell on an unsuspecting world. This fog was paler in color though and it remained contained within the sphere, swirling endlessly until it finally cleared. What it revealed had Sam just about choking on his spit though. He thought back to the night before he’d nearly killed himself tackling the Werther Box in St. Louis when he’d called Rowena and had awakened her from her so called beauty sleep. His more primal brain had supplied him with a more vivid image of the body to go with the voice on the other end of the line, how she was likely bleary eyed and her hair mussed from sleeping. The images he’d conjured in his head then were nothing compared with the flame-haired goddess that he now beheld in the crystal globe.

“Beauty sleep,” muttered Sam to himself, “Heh, she looks damn good for three hundred years old with or without it.”

His gaze raked over miles of creamy flesh that played peek-a-boo with the black lace negligee Rowena wore. She stood in front of a floor length mirror, primping and fluffing her long, red hair, likely gloating over how she’d managed to get away from them yet again. His fingers dug into the hard surface of the sphere, not out of anger but desire, as his body responded eagerly to the sight of her looking so vulnerable and sensual. He imagined running his long fingers through those tumbling curls, feeling their silkiness against his rough skin. He could just about hear the throaty sighs and moans that would fall from her lips as he cupped her full, pert breasts with his palms, thumbing her nipples through the black lace she wore. His lips curved in a dirty smirk as he envisioned her gasp of shock as he tore the lacy nightie from her body, baring her to his gaze more fully. He was so lost in his lewd thoughts that he almost didn’t notice how Rowena’s reflection in the mirror appeared to be looking right at him.

“Like what you see, Samuel?” she inquired, her voice low and inviting.

Sam sucked in a breath and despite his tight grip on the orb in his hands he nearly dropped it. He half expected that the next sound he heard would be the sound of the crystal ball shattering on the concrete floor followed by the sound of footsteps when Cas came to investigate what he was doing. Instead all he heard was the sound of his own slightly labored breathing and Rowena’s low, throaty chuckle at his sudden discomfort. His gaze remained fixated on the image of Rowena in the globe; then gradually, as he looked beyond the witch at her mirror, he realized it was his face, not hers that was being reflected in the glass. He swallowed hard, hating the heated flush that he could see coloring his cheeks partly due to arousal from his dirty thoughts and sheer embarrassment at being caught looking.

“Och, those sawdust for brains didn’t write down that part did they?” she teased gleefully. “The mirror goes both ways, giant.”

Sam’s lips parted and he struggled to remember how the witch at the station had banished the images from her mirror, what words she might have said to shut the spell down.

“What’s the matter, Samuel?” she taunted lips quirked in that devilishly red smirk, “Cat caught your tongue?”

His gaze shifted from those lips that toyed with his thoughts to the way her fingers teased lightly along the vee of her negligee, practically inviting him to continue looking his fill. He bristled at her delicate little laugh as he realized just how aware she was that she had him completely at her mercy. He watched her turn from the mirror slowly, the lace she wore pulling tight and hugging her curves as she moved. He shifted uncomfortably where he sat on the floor, unsure if he really wanted to see where this was going, especially with the way his jeans grew tighter the longer he allowed his gaze to linger on the enchantress reflected in the globe. He didn’t know why he didn’t look away, why he didn’t stop the moment she’d caught him peeping. It wasn’t like he was ensnared by some spell or compulsion like Castiel had been, not unless you counted his own willful libido leading him by the proverbial nose.

 _‘Dean’s right, I need to get laid more often,’_ he thought ruefully.

That particular thought was the only thing that explained him wanting to kiss that mischievous knowing smile off those sultry lips so badly. He licked his own lips and watched her brows rise before she turned her face away. Now it was his turn to smile, realizing she wasn’t as disaffected and coy as she was trying to seem.

“Don’t hide from me, Rowena,” he ground out, finally finding his voice since he’d realized she was watching.

He watched her stop in her tracks and half expected her to shut their little mystical phone call down when she glanced back over her shoulder at the mirror.

“I’m not hiding,” she retorted petulantly, “And I don’t like being ordered about like some chattel.”

Sam quirked a brow, noting the tension in her shoulders despite how her curly hair spilled down to almost obscure them.

“Liar,” he taunted, “On both counts.”

Her eyes narrowed viciously and Sam was reminded of how she’d reacted the first time he’d chained her up in the distillery basement. He allowed his gaze to wander along her curves, letting her see the full breadth of his lust in his eyes in the hopes of enticing her into keeping the line open.

“Take it off, Rowena,” he said, his voice a low, thick rumble. “Lose the clothes for once.”

He didn’t miss the way her body shuddered at his words and he found himself wishing he was there with her in whatever hotel room she was hiding out in now. He had no problem with the idea of seizing hold of her slender arm and using it to spin her around to face him before undressing her like he’d demanded.

“You…are a very trying man, Samuel,” she grumbled petulantly.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about this, about us,” he hedged. “You may be a witch but you’re also a woman, Rowena.”

“Aye, a woman who’s free to do and think whatever she pleases,” she retorted with a flick of her hair.

“Whatever she pleases, huh?” he taunted. “So thinking about me pleases you?”

Sam grinned as he watched her face turn almost the same shade as her hair before marching toward the mirror.

“I do not think on you like that, you bam pot,” she snarled.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” he countered. “I bet you dream about us, Rowena, about what we could’ve done to pass the time when you were decoding the codex.”

The look in Rowena’s eyes shifted from sparking with fury to downright smoky and sensuous as she took his measure, which both worried and aroused him at the same time. Sam had a feeling he might have tipped his hand a little too far by pushing her buttons so much, but if it allowed him to exorcise his renegade libido it would be worth it.

“You’re making me almost regret caging you in back there with that brother of yours and his angel,” she mused, “though I wonder what Dean would’ve thought if I’d taken you with me.”

Sam glanced away as he considered what Rowena was saying. He could already picture the likely outcome of the witch carting him off while his big brother watched. Dean would have hunted Rowena down with his usual single minded efficiency and shot her without even blinking after the things she’d done. Not to mention nobody messed with Sam and got away with it so long as Dean Winchester was alive and breathing.

“Pity,” she murmured, making a soft tsking sound.

Her soft utterance pulled Sam’s attention back from his thoughts about Dean and his eyes went wide as he watched Rowena hook a thumb under one of the straps keeping her nightgown up, beginning to draw it down.

“I’ll make you a deal, my bonny lad,” she offered with a gleam in her eye. “I’ll go sky clad for you if you do the same.”

Sam’s mouth went dry and his head jerked back slightly, taken aback by the idea that this witch wanted to see more of him.

“Uh…um…I…” he stuttered.

“No then?” she taunted, making as though to pull the strap back up.

“No!” he said hastily, “I mean, don’t stop…I…I just…”

“Yes?” she pressed, waiting for Sam to finish his thought.

“I’m not, this…it’s not a mirror on my end,” he explained, “or a bowl of water.”

“A crystal then?” she inquired, obviously intrigued. “You’re more skilled than I thought, Samuel.”

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes at Rowena’s admiration and waited for her to catch on to his predicament with keeping his end of the deal this time.

“You can set it down, it won’t break the connection, trust me,” she chuckled.

Sam kicked himself for leaving the wooden holder for the crystal ball behind in the storeroom as he gently set the orb down on the hard concrete floor. His hands hovered close for a moment to ensure it wouldn’t roll away, then drew back slowly.

“Mmmmmm, much better, you’re not howling to be sure,” she murmured.

“Uh, thanks, I think,” he responded.

She snickered at him in response and finally eased that first strap down, drawing her arm up and out. Now that Sam didn’t have the crystal ball in his hands, he found himself digging his fingertips into his palms, especially with the way that dangling strap was tempting him to push aside that scrap of black lace that still clung to her breast.

“Your turn,” she prodded, “Or are you planning to welsh on our deal again?”

“More,” he choked out, “Lose the other strap.”

Rowena’s brows just about vanished beneath her bangs at Sam’s guttural demand. Her lips parted and for a moment Sam expected her to argue until he saw her lips pull into a mulish line. He watched intently as she drew down the other strap, leaving the lace clinging to her pale skin for a moment before Rowena made a point of stretching languidly, coaxing the bodice of her nightgown to slide down and reveal the firm, creamy breasts Sam had been fantasizing about. He swallowed back the spit that threatened to turn into drool as his eyes drank their fill of the sight of her rose capped tits.

“God, yeah,” he breathed, palming himself through his jeans without thinking about it.

He fought down the urge to reach out and touch the glowing globe as well, knowing that no matter how much he tried he’d only feel cold stone rather than warm flesh. He couldn’t help the low moan that broke from his throat as she moved to cradle her own breasts, her fiery curls falling forward over her shoulders to brush against her bare flesh.

“Like that, Samuel?” she teased huskily.

He grit his teeth, hating himself for being weak enough to not stop this, hating that she was reveling in his weakness. He swallowed hard and tried to bury the strength of his lust behind cool, assessing eyes. He knew he'd taken too long to throw up his poker face though when he watched her brush a thumb over her nipple, making it tighten into a stiff peak.

"Come now, Samuel, my bonny lad, tit for tat or tat for tit so to speak," prodded Rowena.

His gaze followed her fingers, replacing them with his own as they strummed lightly across her skin, occasionally ghosting against the rosy flesh of her nipples. He licked his lips, briefly wondering how she would taste, if her skin would smell sweet like flowers or musky like some kind of perfume along with the scent of her arousal as he lavished attention on her breasts with his mouth. He started from his thoughts when she spoke and caught a glimpse of her reaching for the bodice of her nightgown as though to hide herself from view again.

"Wait..." he breathed, sighing with relief when she let go of the black lace.

"Well then," she huffed, "off with it, sweetie, let me see something for my trouble."

Sam was reluctant to let himself be more vulnerable than he already was but he knew if he didn't start reciprocating, Rowena would gladly shut him down and leave him sitting there wanting more. He sighed heavily and shifted on the floor again to ease the tight press of his jeans before reaching back over his head to grab the collar of the somewhat threadbare tee shirt he was wearing. He tugged it up and over his head, ruffling his hair and causing it to fall in a tousled bed-headed mess around his face once it was free of the dark cotton. He flushed at the admiring whistle that greeted his display and he sheepishly laid his shirt aside, fighting the instinct to hide himself away again.

"My, my, Samuel," she murmured, eyes raking over his broad muscled chest that sported just a dusting of dark brown hair hungrily. "Those tartans you boys wear do you no favors, none at all."

Sam tried not to squirm under her hungry gaze, feeling a bit like a mouse that had been cornered by a cat. He felt a warm flush build anew in his cheeks before spreading down to his tan chest the longer Rowena looked her fill.

“Enough,” he muttered.

He reached for his shirt, unable to bear the thought of letting this sick dance between them continue any longer. He was about to pull it back over his head and walk away when Rowena’s words stopped him cold.

 _“Spiritum tactus,”_ she intoned.

Sam felt his whole body tingle as whatever spell the witch had wrought settled and he braced himself for something dangerous or deadly to happen. He didn’t move at first, not until he felt something that reminded him of fingers trailing across his skin brush against his shoulder, making him flinch away from the mysterious source.

“What the hell?” he groused, glaring at the red-headed sorceress, knowing it was her doing.

“What? I was getting bored of just touching myself,” she pouted, brushing her slender fingers along her own throat seductively. “I can do that anytime I want but you, no.”

Sam shivered as he felt those phantom fingers brush along the long line of his own throat, mimicking the way Rowena touched herself. He sucked in a breath as her ghostly touch trailed lower when she resumed toying with her bared breasts. He tried to fight it but he couldn’t help the groan that broke from his throat or the way his head tipped back while his spine bowed, arching toward her phantom touch.

“Rowena,” he breathed as she pinched a nipple and rolled it between her fingers.

“Yes, Samuel?” she responded, her voice deepened by arousal. “Do you want more?”

His cock throbbed in his jeans at the thought of more, more of her touch, more everything. He blessed and cursed whatever horny witch had come up with the spell Rowena had cast on him while at the same time struggling to remember the words she’d used so that he could give her a taste of her own medicine. He squeezed his eyes shut figuring maybe if he couldn’t watch her pluck at the pert, pink buds he could pull a rational thought out of his lust-marinated brain. Subconsciously though, his hands moved to mimic what he could feel her spirit hands were doing, teasing and plucking at his own nipples until the sensitive flesh stung and looked like someone had been sucking on them. A low moan escaped him at that thought, regardless of whether it was his mouth on her soft curves or hers on his flat chest. His lips were parted and he could feel the heat of arousal push aside any lingering embarrassment as the reason for his flushed face. He caught the sound of a pleased and satisfied hum from the vision within the globe then sat up and took notice when he heard rustling followed by a soft thud of what could only be fabric hitting the floor. He pried his eyes open and almost wished he hadn’t as he realized she’d kept her end of the bargain by losing the rest of her nightgown. His eyes drank her in, making note of the nest of soft, red curls that led down to her sex and matched the vibrant hue of the curls on her head.

“Nice to see the carpet matches the drapes,” he choked out, needing the levity to keep him from seeking her out in person.

He watched her eyes narrow then jolted when he first heard, then felt the way she’d smacked her own ass to punish him for being so cliché. The sharp, stinging pain also served to clear Sam’s brain just enough to provide him with the means to exact a little payback.

 _“Spiritum tactus,”_ he murmured, then ran his thumb along the plush flesh of his lower lip to see if Rowena would notice how the tables had turned against her again.

He felt a sick sense of satisfaction, as well as a heady rush of power like he hadn’t felt since his demon blood days, at the way her gaze faltered and her eyelids fluttered in response to his brief touch. He licked at his lips and recalled his earlier thoughts about how he would touch Rowena if they were in the same room. He brought his hands up and traced the curve of his pectoral muscles, shifting them to cup the firm, lush breasts reflected in the orb in front of him.

“Like that?” he rasped thickly, “My turn to touch my fill and drive you crazy.”

“Sam…uel,” she gasped, her knees almost buckling when his phantom fingers tweaked her nipple, the contact feeling almost as rough as she remembered his hands being.

She moved toward the mirror and grasped the edges, tugging it with her toward the big bed that awaited her. She positioned it just right so that once she was spread out on the bed, with her curls spilling lazily across the cream pillows, Sam could see everything and then some.

Sam refrained from touching himself until she was settled, though he’d been tempted especially after how he’d had her gasping and moaning for him already. He let out a low thick groan of his own when she made a point of flashing her sex at him, almost able to smell her musk and see how slick she was with arousal.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered.

He finally allowed himself to reach down to unsnap the fly of his jeans, tugging the zipper down with painful slowness while keeping his gaze locked on her heavy lidded eyes. He got to his feet and made sure he had Rowena’s full attention before he shoved down both his jeans and boxers in one go, allowing his cock to spring free. If her eyes had gotten wide when he’d shed his shirts, they practically popped out of her head as she gawked at his dick, which stood out from his groin, long and thick and aching to be touched after being confined for so long. Sam kept waiting for her to say something, to come back at him with some sort of scathing retort. It was hard for him not to feel a certain satisfaction when her jaw worked fruitlessly, her soft, pouty lips that had spat so much venom opening and closing soundlessly. He chuckled huskily and took advantage of her dumbfounded moment to toe off his boots and ease himself back down to sit on the concrete floor.

“My God, Samuel,” she breathed, once his prominent manhood shifted out of view, “However do you walk with such a Nessie between your legs?”

Her description of his cock had Sam throwing his head back and laughing, beginning to understand why Crowley had needed to sell his soul for that few extra inches.

“I do well enough,” he chuckled.

“Aye, I’ll wager you do,” she mused.

She licked at her lips, her eyes lowering to try and catch another glimpse of the beast that was just out of her sight and out of her reach. She found herself, for the first time since they’d started this battle of wits, wishing that the handsome, virile, young hunter was in the room with her rather than miles away in that nasty, dank bunker. Death and danger be damned, it would all be worth it to ride that massive specimen of manhood till she was too sore and exhausted to walk away. She exhaled a heavy sigh and propped up the pillows behind her to try and hide her sudden burst of longing for more.

Sam’s brow creased as he caught the subtle shift in the way Rowena was ogling him. He waited until she turned her face away to run his fingers along his jaw to pull her attention back to him, knowing she’d be able to feel the tender caress. He smirked smugly once he had those green eyes locked on his and allowed his fingers to trail downward, letting them touch himself exactly the way he pictured touching her.

Rowena exhaled a shuddering sigh, giving herself over to the pleasure of Sam’s ghostly touch rather than trying to one up him. Her eyes slipped closed and she sagged back against the pillows, reclining sensuously as she allowed her fingers to follow Sam’s lead so that he could feel her too.

Sam knew he should be embarrassed by the way he leaned into her phantom touch, but he was so starved for any sort of contact that didn’t cause him physical pain that it was hard to resist. He watched Rowena sag back against her pillows, her legs spreading wantonly as his touch trailed lower, closer to his length and her glistening sex. He grunted softly and shifted against the hard floor as her touch mimicked his, making him wonder how it would feel for her when he finally stroked himself and if he’d feel her jacking him off when she fingered herself. He allowed his fingers to ghost along the trail of fine hair that arrowed down his abdomen, his breath hitching in his chest as he felt his muscles contract in response to the feel of her fingertips teasing him there. He gazed heatedly at the globe, waiting to see if she'd be forward enough to finally make the ultimate move or if she'd wait for him to take charge of not only getting himself off but her as well. He felt her fingers linger for a moment, circling his navel lazily like they had nowhere better to be before she allowed one to meander back north to give one of her nipples a firm enough tweak that his whole body jolted in response.

"Tease," he muttered accusingly.

"Pot and kettle, giant, pot and kettle," she countered, a smirk on her rosy lips at how apt that epithet had turned out to be.

Sam found himself echoing her smirk as he returned the teasing favor by tweaking one of his own nipples even as his other hand slid down along the groove of his groin to palm the firm weight of his balls. He kept his gaze as focused as he could on the fiery witch in the bed as he squeezed gently but firmly, unsure of what response that would draw from Rowena considering their fundamental differences. He was gratified by the way she jerked against the cream colored sheets then arched up off the bed, lips parted on a wanton moan and hips writhing in the air as though seeking out his body to grind against.

"Sweet merciful heaven, Samuel," she purred throatily.

Her hands fell away from her body as it responded to Sam's touch, moving instead to clutch at the sheets beneath her and leave Sam bereft of her touch. He didn't mind though, or at least that's what he told himself as he ran his thumb up along the underside of his cock and back down before giving his balls another gentle squeeze and tug. He couldn't fight the groan that escaped him as he watched Rowena writhing in pleasurable agony, her eyes slamming shut, dark lashes fanning against flushed cheeks as her body bowed to his touch.

"So responsive, Rowena," he rasped thickly.

He allowed his dirty thoughts to wander the longer he watched her body twist and convulse on the bed without him even having to touch her and he was somewhat disturbed by the sudden dark territory he allowed himself to venture into. He contemplated how she'd look with her hands chained to the headboard the way they'd been when he'd held her hostage while searching for a cure for the Mark of Cain, how that would leave her completely helpless and at his mercy. He imagined how her delicate limbs would feel under his hands as he gripped her tight while his cock thrust deep inside her. He grimaced slightly at that particular element of his dark and filthy fantasy considering, in the heat of the moment, caution was likely to go out the window with potentially disastrous results such as a new half-sibling for the King of Hell that was part witch and part Winchester, a terrifying combination. He shook that thought away, far, far away especially when he felt his arousal begin to drain away. His hand moved to wrap around his cock, stroking almost frantically to stave off the danger of wilting.

 _"Alleges duplicia manu!"_ she shouted hoarsely.

Sam's hands froze mid-movement before falling away from touching himself to rest palms flat on the floor. He tried to lift them only to realize she'd essentially pinned him down or at the very least his hands. He blinked stupidly for a moment then found himself openly gawking at the image he could see of Rowena reflected in the globe at his feet. Her fiery red hair was a wild, tousled mess, strands sticking to her brow, which was damp with sweat from the way her body had been writhing around like a gasping fish. Her eyes glinted with a mix of lust and malice that was born of being driven to the edge and back one too many times thanks to Sam's rough handling. Her chest heaved with her panted breaths as she stared him down.

"Enough," she finally gasped out.

Sam swallowed hard and fought down the urge to fight the spell Rowena had cast, not wanting to risk hurting himself and drawing attention from Cas and Dean.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, hoping that in his ignorance of his actions he hadn't caused her any actual, physical harm despite how much animosity there was between them.

"Sorry?" she huffed. "You're sorry?"

She shook her head, curls flying to and fro while her body splayed wearily back against the pillows. She marveled at the naiveté of the young Winchester and was thankful that he wasn't more familiar with using magic or else she would've been little more than a sobbing heap of a woman when he was done.

"If I'd known what this little spell was capable of, especially in your hands, I would've stopped you sooner," she said dryly, "before you spoiled me with coming more than once so hard I nearly lost my senses."

Sam's eyes widened to near comical proportions as he allowed his eyes to drink in the full debauched picture that Rowena made. Damp spots littered the sheets from where her sweaty body or slickened sex had made contact with them while she'd bucked and twisted her way around the mattress. More smears decorated the fair skin of her inner thighs and at least two of her fingers seemed to have developed a permanent kink to them.

"I...I..." he stuttered.

"Och, aye, aye, indeed," she huffed, "You made a right mess of me and it would serve you right if I ended this little tête-à-tête between us right now and left you trapped there rock hard for your brother and that bloody angel to find."

Sam's lips parted as if to speak only to exhale a long, low torturous groan as Rowena's ghostly touch returned. He shifted on the floor, careful not to move outside of what his spell-wrought bindings would allow. He felt her fingers walking up and down his treasure trail before what felt like a warm fist wrapped around his dick. His head tipped back and his eyes slammed closed, his focus more on what Rowena's phantom hands were making him feel than how she was able to manage to jack him off so efficiently from such a long distance. His ass writhed against the cold concrete floor then jerked upward haphazardly when she allowed her fingers to dance around the crown teasingly.

"Want more, Samuel?" she taunted, her ghostly fingers fisting his cock slowly once more.

"God, yeah," groaned Sam, desperation gradually getting the better of his moral compass the longer she continued to stroke him.

Her answering chuckle was soft and melodious as it teased his ears with promises that wouldn't completely bear fruit. He was thankful that she didn't stop stroking him despite her amusement and if anything it felt like she had picked up the pace eagerly. He spread his long legs out to either side of the crystal ball, making sure not to jar it too much. His sprawled legs made it easier to move, to thrust into the chilly air of the dungeon while at the same time baring himself fully to Rowena's lustful gaze, earning him an admiring hum from the coy witch.

"You shouldn't keep yourself locked up so much," she mused huskily, "Why should that brother of yours get all the dirty, meaningless sex?"

Sam couldn't string together enough brain cells to form a coherent response to her words. Instead, he allowed himself to lose all semblance of modesty as he thrust furiously against the invisible fist stroking him.

"We could be wicked together, Samuel," she continued. "Just think if it wasn't just my hand on you. I'm not without my charms, dear."

Sam swallowed hard as his mind filled in the blanks between her words, picturing himself trapped on a bed instead of a hard floor, completely and totally at Rowena's mercy. His head lolled to the side and he gulped in air as he replaced her fist first with her mouth then the soft folds of her pussy.

"Yeah," he panted, "ride me, Rowena."

He let out a choked gasp as she squeezed his length firmly before jerking him with more purposeful strokes. He cracked his eyes open to mere slits, noting the vigorous way Rowena was fingering her clit, likely working herself toward yet another orgasm already.

"Come, Samuel," she demanded, her voice soft in volume but hard as nails at its core. "Let me see the big, brave hunter fall apart."

Part of Sam fought it, fought the urge to cave in to her command. Her touch had him so close to the edge as it was without her making demands that it was downright painful. He managed to hold back just long enough to watch her head fall back in pleasure as she lost herself in her own release just before his own slammed into him. He bit down on his lip to stifle his growled cry from being heard, drawing blood that welled up and spilled on his tongue with a bitter coppery tang rather than the musky sweetness he would have preferred. His cock was still spurting when he forced his eyes back open, leaving a pearly white trail up his abs. He smiled wearily at the single drop that landed and slid down along the clear surface of the crystal ball then allowed his body to crumple, flopping back on the hard floor without the luxury of pillows to cushion his impact.

"Fuck," he muttered as his back hit the floor.

"Next time, dear one, next time," murmured Rowena.

Sam shuddered with a mix of fear and fresh arousal at the thought of there being a next time, whether it was another long distance crystal call or possibly something more.

"Rowena," he sighed, tugging at his bonds with the desire to run his fingers through that curly mess of hair one last time.

"Och, before I forget..." she chortled, forcing Sam to open his eyes once more.

He caught one last glimpse of a very sated witch snuggled deep in cream pillows on the other end of the line before she uttered the two little words that would set him free while also keeping him enslaved to his own selfish desire for more of what he couldn't afford to have.

_"Finite incantatum."_

Sam grunted softly, feeling slightly winded as the pressure of his and Rowena’s mutual spell work ended. He found himself gazing at the now plain, empty crystal with a mix of longing and shame at having let his baser instincts get the better of him. He flexed his wrists now that the weight was gone and he sighed heavily as he allowed the tension that had been coiled in his body to ebb away. It felt like a dream, a really dirty dream, but the longer he laid there staring at the ceiling the more he found his mind thinking about taking Rowena up on that offer for seconds, though not right away. His fingers moved to smear through the splatters of his release cooling on his abs and he groaned, realizing if he didn’t pull himself back together and move soon that Dean or even worse, Castiel, would find him like this. He somehow doubted either one of them would approve of what he’d just done, especially after they’d narrowly missed losing Cas to Rowena’s attack dog spell.

He sighed and gradually moved to sit up, his muscles complaining vehemently, which made him crave some time under the hot spray of the shower even more. He wiped away the cum from his belly with his tee shirt then did the same with the crystal ball before bundling it up within the well worn fabric to both protect and hide it. He tugged on his jeans and boxers then peeked out the door, making sure no one was around or looking for him before slipping out into the hallway. He knew he should put the crystal back where it belonged but instead he found himself carrying it toward his room. He poked his head inside to make sure Cas wasn’t on a Netflix binge and slipped inside. He settled the crystal ball on one of his many shelves, turning it so the slightly cum-smeared side faced away from the room and therefore was less conspicuous. He covered it with his dirty tee shirt, not really in the mood to give Rowena a free show if she was watching. He figured he’d retrieve the black velvet cover it had been wrapped in along with its stand later after he’d scrubbed away the remains of his little mystical Skype session. He gave the covered crystal ball one last, longing glance before forcing himself back out of the room and down the corridor that led to the huge shower, where he was determined to wash that witch right out of his hair--at least for a little while.


End file.
